Slipping Through Cracks
by Shini02
Summary: Oneshot. Death was something somewhere between an art and a science.


**Disclaimer:** Casper does not belong to me.

**A/N:** Written for and commissioned by stretch the faunlet.

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**Slipping Through Cracks**

After spending nearly two hundred years as a ghost, one would think that death could throw no more surprises Stretch's way. He had certainly thought so, had prided himself on the knowledge and experience he had come to call his own. He would have been the first to tell you he knew every trick of the trade, that this state of being and all the pros and cons that came with it were as familiar as the back of his own hand now. So he had thought, anyway.

There was nothing special about the wall he was currently wedged halfway through. This was a wall he was sure he had to have passed through at least once or twice before over the years he and his brothers haunted Whipstaff. In fact, he was fairly confident there wasn't a nook or cranny he didn't know of. So, how he wound up stuck in this predicament completely dumbfounded him. Being so at a loss and so confused made him feel newly-dead again – and that made him feel vulnerable, and that made him angry. The only saving grace for the time being was that no one seemed to be around. This didn't really quell his anger, but even he could admit that so long as no one saw him like this, he could remain within control of his temper. And so long as he was able to do that, there may have been a chance to figure things out and work himself free.

As things were, his upper body was stuck in Dr. Harvey's office, while the rest of him was left to dangle in the hall. He could remember, when he had been new to death, getting stuck like this every now and then, usually when passing through something new for the first time. Being a ghost was all a state of mind, after all, and he had to learn – as all ghosts had to learn – how to phase through solid objects, and no two substances were the same. Being dead was something somewhere between and art and a science, and he had thought he had spent nearly two centuries perfecting it.

At first, he had thought it was just a minor issue, that he'd push or pull himself right out. However – and he swore he wasn't imagining this – it seemed the more he fought, the tighter the wall seemed to hold him. He thought of calming down, that somehow that may work in his favor, but couldn't bring himself to relax. The longer he remained stuck like this, the more frustrated he was getting. Mostly because he didn't like not understanding his own state of being, but also because he understood that there was a very good chance that someone would eventually find him like this. And – no pun intended – but he would rather be caught dead than in this sort of situation.

"Okay," he sighed to himself after a good hour of relentless, angry struggling. "Okay, what would the Doc say right now?" he muttered and ran a hand over his face while he mulled this over. He could imagine James so perfectly, standing in front of him and trying to talk him through this.

"Assess the situation," James would probably say.

"I'm stuck," Stretch answered aloud, thus far finding no use in this one-sided conversation, "in a fricken wall. Consider the situation assessed."

"And how does that make you feel?" James would press on.

Despite the question only being a figment of his imagination, Stretch found himself angrier because of it. What did it matter how he felt about it? Shouldn't it have been obvious? Why did James have to be so ridiculously curious about everything?

Why did any of this matter at the moment? What really mattered was getting out of the wall, and how he seemed to be unable to do it. And as much as he hated to admit it, he seemed to be running out of options and ideas. He couldn't pull or push himself out, and no amount of cursing seemed to work in his favor, either. He was sure, though, if he kept trying, he could get himself out of this before anybody found him.

"Uh... Uncle Stretch?"

Or not.

At the sound of Casper's voice, Stretch stiffened and he swore he felt the wall squeeze him just a little more. This was bad, but he quickly reasoned that it could have been worse. A lot worse.

He glanced upward as Casper came around to the front of him. The young ghost looked genuinely concerned, and even more confused than Stretch himself felt. Stretch couldn't help but sneer at him.

"Whattaya want, Short Sheet?"

Casper faltered for a moment, opening and closing his mouth, clearly unsure of what to say. When he seemed to finally find his voice, he cleared his throat and floated just a little closer. "Are you... alright?"

"Do I look alright?!" Stretch snapped, and Casper immediately jerked backward a few inches.

"No – well – I mean – " Casper whimpered and ran a hand over the back of his head. "How... did this happen?"

"If I knew that, do ya honestly think I'd still be stuck here?!" Stretch's voice was gradually rising with every trivial question he answered. Neither ghost noticed, but the temperature in the room dropped a few degrees as well.

Casper winced inwardly, though he did come to the slow realization that his uncle was, indeed, stuck in the wall. "I guess not," he said quietly, cocking his head to the side and eying Stretch carefully. For the life of him – again, no pun intended – he couldn't figure out how Stretch was stuck in the wall, either. And with the mood Stretch was in, he wasn't too sure he wanted to stick around to try and figure out how to get him out.

But Casper, being Casper, couldn't do something like that. So even if Stretch would glare the whole time and keep shouting and only wind up angry at him, he had to at least try and help him.

"Do you want help?" he offered.

"Do I look like I want your help?!" Stretch shot back.

"...well, no. But I think you need it, anyway," Casper replied, raising an eyebrow. "How long have you been stuck there?"

Stretch thought of snapping at his nephew again, but instead gritted his teeth and gave a slow mock-inhale. The wall was squeezing at him again and the longer Casper stayed, the more aggravated he was becoming.

"None o' ya business," he hissed. "Now buzz off. I got this."

Unfortunately for Stretch, Casper was not a stupid boy, and by now he had realized that the only real threat to him at this point in time was Stretch's temper. However, considering he was stuck the way he was, he couldn't actually do much more than scream at him. It wasn't often Casper had the upper hand, but he wasn't about to let the opportunity pass him by.

"You've been avoiding all of my questions – that means you're really embarrassed," Casper pointed out. "And that means you've probably been there longer than you wanna say."

Now while Casper was clever, Stretch often let his temper get the better of him and cloud his judgment. It most likely didn't cross his mind that screaming at the boy as loud as he could would draw attention to himself. It took less than a minute before Stinkie and Fatso made their entrance, drifting down through the ceiling and coming to a halt behind Casper.

Stretch slapped a hand over his face at the sight of his brothers. A low rumble rose from the back of his throat, the closest sound to a growl he was able to make. "Not one word outta either o' ya," he warned.

"He's stuck," Casper explained, and was only slightly pleased to hear both Stinkie and Fatso snicker and see them grin to themselves. Stinkie and Fatso frequently found themselves at the butt of Stretch's cruel humor, and so Casper didn't doubt they would enjoy this moment while they could.

They would, no doubt, pay for it later, but that was a bridge they would cross when they came to it.

"How in da heck didja manage dat?" Stinkie asked, floating closer to his brother and inspecting where wall met and clung to ectoplasm. Testing the waters, he slid his hand into the wall, waved it around, and then pulled it out without any issues.

"If ya know what's good for ya, an' I doubtcha do," Stretch began slowly, speaking through gritted teeth, "you'll back off. Way the fuck off."

"Oh, ok," Stinkie grinned and floated backward and away from his brother. He grabbed hold of Fatso and Casper, pulling them with him as he went. "Is dis far enough for ya?"

"Yeah, I'm sure we'll be of some real use way over here!" Fatso chimed in.

"I can do it myself!" Stretch shouted.

"Dat's what she said," Stinkie quipped in, earning himself a curious side-glance from his nephew. He waved him off; he didn't need to know what he meant, and now wasn't the time to explain, anyway.

"If ya done – " Stretch started, but didn't get to finish.

"Are you done?" Casper interjected, brow furrowing. The sudden silence made him uneasy, but he took it as a cue to continue. "Something's obviously wrong here, and you need help. Screaming and cursing at us isn't going to get you out of that wall any faster."

"Sheesh," Stinkie mumbled, "when did Caspah grow a pair?"

The sudden tension in the room was thick enough to choke a man, as demonstrated by Fatso as he cleared his throat loudly.

Stretch's eyes became red very quickly at this but after a few long, intense seconds, he willed himself to calm down. He hated to admit it – and he would never do so out loud – but Casper was right. All of this back and forth and working himself up only seemed to tighten the wall's grip on him. He could not get out of this on his own, that much he had already figured out even before Casper arrived.

"Well?" he suddenly snapped. "What're you goons waitin' for? Quit gawkin' an' start helpin'!"

Stinkie and Fatso looked at one another and shrugged.

"You push," Stinkie told Fatso.

"You pull," Fatso replied.

"I'll get Kat and Dr. Harvey," Casper winced and left the room quickly before any of his uncles could object.

Stinkie moved forward again and eyed Stretch carefully while Fatso went through the wall and surveyed the damage on the other side. He leaned in to grab Stretch's wrists and gave the other ghost a small tug. Stretch didn't budge, all he did was grunt. The wall would not be relinquishing its hold on him any time soon, as far as Stinkie could tell.

After a moment, Stretch was shoved forward only slightly and grunted louder than he had before. "'Ey, 'ey! Take it easy back there!" he shouted back to Fatso. "An' watch where ya puttin' ya hands!"

"The last thing I wanna be touchin' is your ass," Fatso assured him. Stretch rolled his eyes before looking up at Stinkie.

"I'm gonna wring all ya necks when I get outta here," he warned.

"If," Stinkie corrected and grinned cheekily at his brother. Before Stretch could get a few more threats in, Stinkie continued to speak. "Seriously dhough, I dunno how we're gonna getcha outta dhere. Ya've gone an' stuck yaself real good."

"Ya think I dunno that?" Stretch muttered, finally jerking his hands out of Stinkie's grip. "I don't even know what I'm stuck in – otherwise, I'd prob'ly be able t'get outta here."

"Yeah," Stinkie mumbled in reply, brow furrowing as he tried his best to assess the situation for himself. Stretch was stuck in a wall he had to have passed through hundreds of times over in the years they had been haunting Whipstaff. No one else seemed to be having trouble getting through the wall, either. What was so different about Stretch, he had to wonder.

He didn't have very long to ponder this before Kat's laughter could be heard from the hallway. Stinkie winced, knowing Stretch would not appreciate being made a mockery of.

"How the hell do ghosts get stuck?" Kat asked as she made her way into the office with Casper and her father. "No – wait – the better question is: How did this ghost in particular get stuck?" she now grinned at Stretch, arms across her chest.

"Now's really, really not the fuckin' time, bonebag," Stretch warned.

"Language," James chided, brow furrowing. He didn't mind so much that Stretch was swearing, but he would have preferred it if he wasn't swearing at his daughter.

"What?" Kat went on, cocking an eyebrow. "I thought you were the best. I thought you knew all the tricks. How did some silly, old wall trip you up?"

The temperature in the room dropped almost instantly. Suppressing a shiver, James took hold of Kat's shoulders and gave her a small push toward the door. "I don't think you're helping right now, honey," he told her quietly. "Why don't you let me handle this, ok?"

"But, Dad – "

"You can stay if you're going to help. If you're going to kick him when he's down..." James gave Kat a small grimace and then nodded ahead to the door. "In fact, I think it would probably be best if I had some time alone with him. So, if you could all, maybe, leave...?"

"Are you sure you want to be alone with him, Dr. Harvey?" Casper asked, hesitant to leave the therapist alone with Stretch.

"I can hanlde him," James assured Casper, then made exaggerated sweeping motions with his arms. "Now, go on – all of you. Out!"

"If ya sure, Doc," Stinkie shrugged, and was quick to exit the room. He grabbed hold of Fatso on his way through the hall and left the doctor to his work.

It took a few more shoves, but Casper managed to urge Kat out of the room, and out of the house all together. He wanted to be as far away from the manor as possible if, or when, Stretch was freed. Hell hath no wrath, or so the saying went.

"If ya pull or push on anythin', I'll be sure t'drop ya off that trench myself. An' this time, there won't be no comin' back, Doc," Stretch warned, and he meant every word of it.

James held his hands up and offered the ghost a weak laugh. "I'm not even going to touch you, Stretch."

"Wonderful. Now how am I s'posed t'get outta here?"

"I think you need to relax, first," James instructed, beginning a slow pace in front of Stretch.

"Relax?! I've been stuck here for who kows how long, an' ya want me t'relax?!"

"Yes," James said.

"Oh, you're a riot, doc. That ain't happenin' no time soon."

"Just breathe – er, well... you know what I mean," James said and winced inwardly at his choice of words. He was still getting used to coining new terminology when dealing with his spectral patients.

"What's the diff if I'm pissed off or not?" Stretch snapped. "How is calmin' down gonna help any?"

"People don't think straight when they're angry," James explained.

"What's there t'think about, doc? I'm stuck in this old, shitty wall an' I dunno why. That's 'bout the gist of this situation."

"Well, have you ever been stuck like this before?"

Stretch rolled his eyes. "Yeah, when I was a new ghost on the block. When I didn't know how ta... y'know, be a ghost." When James said nothing, only gave him a look that urged him to continue, Stretch sighed and obliged the doctor. It wasn't like he had anything better to do at the moment – and if he had to be stuck talking to somebody, he didn't mind it being James so much.

"S'hard to pass t'rough stuff when ya don't know what it is. S'why we couldn't get outta that damned vacuum o' yours that first day. Once a ghost knows what the t'ing is, gets a feel o' it, it's a lot easier t'pass t'rough it."

James nodded slowly, murmuring in thought for a few seconds before suddenly letting out a low, throaty gasp.

"What was that sound for?" Stretch asked hesitantly.

"I may have had to have some of the insulation in the walls replaced," James admitted. It was a long shot, but if what Stretch was saying was true, then that could be the only explanation behind this whole predicament. Stretch's body didn't recognize the insulation, wasn't familiar with it, and so refused to move through it.

And judging by Stretch's expression, James could only assume he was on the right track, after all.

"Now, getting angry isn't going to help," James reminded the ghost, who gave a low, whining growl in response.

"Yeah, yeah – shaddup," he muttered before wriggling in the wall's hold again. He didn't know what the new insulation was made out of, but he at least new what to focus on now. Just like the vacuum, it took a few very long minutes before he was able to even inch forward.

"There you go," James cheered him on quietly, in his own way. "Just a bit more – push – push – "

"Would you quit that?! I ain't givin' birth!" Stretch snapped, but continued to wriggle and work his way through the wall. It was a very slow process, but with every inch of his body that was freed, he felt himself becoming more and more relaxed and relieved.

For awhile, he had been genuinely worried about being stuck there for much longer. Not forever – that would have just been ridiculous – but definitely more than a few hours.

When he finally managed to squirm free, he all but slid onto the floor in a heap at James' feet. He groaned inwardly, the whole ordeal having taken more out of him than he had anticipated. He hadn't felt this exhausted just from passing through something since his first day as a ghost. It was not a fun feeling, and he likened it to being hungover.

James bent over the ghost, cocking his head to the side. "Are... you ok?"

"I'll be fine," Stretch mumbled as he hauled himself up and brushed himself off. No dust or dirt clung to him, obviously, but old habits died hard. He crossed his arms over his chest as he stared at James now, narrowing his eyes on him at the same time.

"I s'pose I oughtta thank ya," he mumbled, one corner of his mouth rising in a sneer.

"That would be appreciated," James chuckled inwardly, then shrugged one shoulder. "But you don't have to. I did it for us more than you. If you had stayed stuck there, who knows how long we would have had to deal with your mouth?"

It took Stretch a moment to understand James was teasing him, and when this finally registered, he grinned crookedly at the living man. "Thanks," he chuckled.

"Don't mention it," James shrugged one shoulder. "Just doing my job."

"So, ya gonna have t'tell me where all the new insulation is," Stretch said and narrowed his eyes on James. "'Cause we don't want a repeat o' this now, do we?"

"No, I can confidently say we don't," James laughed and ran a hand through his hair.

"Great. Ya can tell me where all that is later. For now, I got some scores t'settle," Stretch muttered, and laced his fingers together before extending his arms, somehow making his ectoplasmic knuckles crack. "Those clods is gonna wish I'd never gotten outta there."

And with that, Stretch turned about face and headed out of the office – making sure to use the door this time.

"Oh, boys – !" he shouted as he left.

Two very loud, very shrill screeches followed.


End file.
